


I Could Be That

by allthebros



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: (of a sort), Alternate Universe, Denial, Fantasizing, Forbidden Love, Frottage, Half-Sibling Incest, Incest, M/M, PWP, Roleplay, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 11:49:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11897130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthebros/pseuds/allthebros
Summary: Sometimes, when he lets himself really think about it, his mind not trying to skirt around the edges of what he wants and what he feels—usually in the dark of night with both hands between his legs—Jonny imagines they're not brothers at all. That they don't share blood. Or a dad. Or a childhood.





	I Could Be That

**Author's Note:**

> first started for a prompt on the [kink meme](https://highdicking.dreamwidth.org/2194.html?thread=6290#cmt6290). Expanded and finished here.  
> Thanks to sorrylatenew and kaneoodle for the support and beta. <333

 

 

They don't look alike. 

Sometimes, when he lets himself really think about it, his mind not trying to skirt around the edges of what he wants and what he feels—usually in the dark of night with both hands between his legs—Jonny imagines they're not brothers at all. That they don't share blood. Or a dad. Or a childhood.

And so it doesn’t matter, then, when they kiss. When it’s New Year’s and there’s champagne and beer and Patrick’s red across the nose and along the cheekbones, flushed so bright that the heat of it comes through when Jonny touches it. He’s pretty, with new muscles across his shoulders that Jonny stares at when they get changed. His mouth is a wet, soft thing for Jonny to sip at, taste the boozy bubbles out of, right there in the dark corner of the hallway at the back of the house where no one sees—everyone out front in the snow, looking up at the sky, looking at Uncle Jimmy’s fireworks and counting down the new year. 

No one sees Jonny kiss his brother. No one sees his brother kiss back. 

It doesn’t matter, then, because Patrick’s adopted. Or Jonny is. He’s just a guy, just—Patrick. With thighs Jonny wants to muscle his way in between and a cock he wants to suck on.

It doesn’t matter that Jonny’s hard. Thick as he’s ever been and rocking his stiff dick against Patrick’s thigh with sharp, clumsy rolls of his hips—his desperation betrayed by the uneven speed. He breathes into Patrick’s mouth, as close as he can get and too warm, too hot everywhere, the heat creeping up his neck and twisting down in his gut. It makes his shirt stick to his back with sweat, makes his dick leak and sticky in his pants. 

He can barely hear the fireworks. Patrick’s breathing mixes with his own—punched out pants in time with Jonny’s hips and little grunts that makes him sound like he’s getting a good dicking from behind. Loud loud, and slippery messy where their mouths slide together, where Patrick’s meets his own thumb on Jonny’s cheek. His hands grip too hard and leave marks, holding Jonny, tongue darting out constantly to lick at the skin under it. 

Jonny reaches down to grab at Patrick’s dick through his pants where it’s fat and heavy. And it’s a jolt to his own cock to find it that way, excited by the possibility of reciprocity when he presses down with his palm and feels it thicken even more—feeling for the size of it and thinking about how he could make it fit in his mouth or in his ass, wherever Patrick wants to stick it. 

It wouldn’t be weird. It’d be hot and good, because Jonny’s never met Patrick before.

When Patrick’s kissing him and seems about two seconds away from going to his knees to take Jonny into his mouth, Jonny thinks about it.

Sometimes, he lets himself think about it. Lets it happen the way he imagines it.

Like now—again late at night and mostly in the dark. Only the yellow light of the street lamp coming through his blinds in chopped up lines over his bed, his feet, his desk. Over Patrick’s thighs and kneecaps where he stands in front of Jonny. Where no one can see.

“Remember, Nik?” Patrick asks, voice just a whisper, end of it cracking so he has to clear his throat. 

“‘Course.” Jonny’s legs fall apart even more than they already were, sitting on the edge of his bed as he is, and he feels the flush of heat come up his neck at the involuntary reaction. His hand lifts to adjust himself—dick already semi-hard just from this, from Patrick being close to him in the dark of his room. But he stops, an aborted movement that leaves him looking awkward with his fingers up in the air towards nothing.

Patrick looks at him from the corner of his eyes, arms crossed over his bare chest. His nipples are dark and hard in the blue-black light, and Jonny finally lowers his hand, tugs at the edge of his briefs for some kind of relief. The house is quiet and settled, no one awake but them.

“I—” Patrick starts, licks his lips. “I could—”

He’s speaking so low, Jonny has to lean forward, blood pumping fast. He sees himself for one sharp second, sees how he could so easily slip down to the carpet and bury his face between Patrick’s legs, drag him to the floor and turn him on his stomach. Pull his boxers down his thighs and part his cheeks to eat him out.

He takes a deep breath, moves his jaw and bites on his tongue, feels the spike of shame that always comes, that does nothing to stop his dick from fattening more.

“What?” he says when Patrick stays silent.

“I could be that.” Patrick takes a small jerky step toward Jonny, forces him to lean back again so his head doesn’t bump Patrick’s stomach. “Just a—a hockey player. Here. Just a guy. Just.”

Jonny’s heart pounds loud in his chest. He feels out of breath, can’t quite swallow right, tongue heavy in his mouth so he has to lick his lips twice before saying, “We’d just be your billet family. Just that.”

Patrick’s “yeah,” comes louder but shaky all the same. Shaky like Jonny’s hand when he lifts it again and reaches out for him this time. He slides his fingertips up the back of Patrick’s thigh and under the hem of his boxers, feeling the soft hairs there, tugging so Patrick has to take another stumbly step. He’s close enough now to be between Jonny’s knees. Close enough Jonny smells the soap they both share on his skin. 

He doesn’t realize how high he’s gone until he’s suddenly touching the seam between Patrick’s thigh and ass. He startles at the soft crease, but dips in anyway, digs along it and toward the inside curve, eyes fixed on the bar of light that cuts over Patrick’s hips and bellybutton. He’s got blond fuzz there where Jonny has sparse dark hairs. 

They don’t look alike at all.

Jonny turns his fingers inward and up, blinking against the wet heat in his eyes. He stares at how Patrick’s abs tighten, at his chest—so still Jonny realizes he’s holding his breath one second before his fingers glance across Patrick’s balls. 

They both lurch forward in surprise—Jonny almost sliding off the bed and Patrick staggering into him with a shout—and then jerk away like they’ve been caught by their dad walking through the door, Patrick’s hand going flat on his mouth.

And they must both think that, because they turn to look at the door at the same time. But it’s still closed, and the house is still silent and sleeping.

Patrick’s hand slides off his lips and he says, “don’t wanna wake your parents,” in a whisper, touches Jonny on the shoulder. “I don’t want to be sent to another family.”

Yeah, it would suck, Jonny thinks very deliberately, if Patrick had to go to another billet family because of this, and says it, “Yeah,” hands on Patrick’s hips, tugging him close again. “We’ll have to be quiet.”

It’s not like New Year’s at all when Patrick climbs in his lap, the motion both hot and just this side of clumsy, like something not done often but thought about a lot. He settles himself, ass heavy and low between Jonny’s thighs, holding on to the back of his neck. Rocks there so Jonny can feel his hard dick on his stomach, like Patrick wants to feel Jonny’s dick on his ass, see what it’d be like to sit on it. 

It sticks in his mind, that image, even as Patrick raises himself, holds himself up so Jonny only has to tip forward slightly to gently kiss the soft skin of his stomach. Patrick’s hands are in his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and pulling to tilt Jonny’s head back. Patrick looks down at him—something that doesn’t happen often because Jonny’s taller than him and they look nothing alike anyway.

They stare at each other in the dark. Patrick’s blue eyes are almost black like this and he’s panting already, chest moving fast, nipple so close to Jonny’s mouth he could give it a wide, wet lick without moving and feel the hard nub of it across the flat of his tongue. 

Patrick clenches his jaw and Jonny mimics him, grinds his teeth looking for the right words, teetering there without knowing how to go forward. 

He thinks, push me. Thinks it a bit viciously, angry in a way that matches the look in Patrick’s eyes, and Jonny gives Patrick a shake, a shove with his hands on Patrick’s waist because he doesn’t know how to ask for it. Doesn’t know how to say please to this. 

Patrick’s mouth twists and his fingers tighten in Jonny’s hair as he says, “don’t tell your brother about this.”

Nik had said that too, before fucking his dick inside Jonny, and Jonny’s shaken out of his anger, lips parting open. He wants to ask how long Patrick watched. Wants to know if he liked it. If it made his cock hard. But he can’t ask because it’s just a coincidence. Patrick didn’t live with them then. 

Jonny shudders and feels himself falling. Does just that, in fact, unable to stay like this any longer. Falls to the bed and drags Patrick with him, over him. All over his body. Holding him tight with arms around him, spreading his legs open easily, like they’ve been wanting to since Patrick slipped into his room. He opens them wide until he feels the stretch in his groin and Patrick’s weight on his dick.

“I won’t,” Jonny says. “He doesn’t need to know.” Patrick’s blond hair falls over his eyes in curls and Jonny runs his fingers through it. No one in his family has hair like that.

“Swear it.”

“Brothers don’t have to share everything,” Jonny says. Repeats a conversation he’s had once already with another boy that wasn’t his brother either, and then slides his hand over the back of Patrick’s neck and pulls him in. 

Jonny’s done this before but it hadn’t felt like this. Not even with Nik’s dick inside him. He hadn’t felt this heavy, tight heat, slick on the inside of his skin, or the lump in his throat when his mouth covers Patrick’s—tongue slipping in between his lips, touching teeth before they part to let him in and he can lick in deep. 

He runs his hands over Patrick’s back, over the rise of his shoulder blades and holds on to them with his fingertips, digging his nails in. Rolls up against Patrick to catch him good across his cock. 

He thinks of all the times he’s seen Patrick in his tight hockey shirts, fabric rubbing at his chest and Patrick’s hand going to his pecs to rub it even more. He’s not supposed to know this because he’s only known Patrick for a few months, but he does it all the same. Moves his hands down, right under Patrick’s armpits where he spreads his fingers and strokes at Patrick’s nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

Patrick gives a startled jerk, like he’s been shocked, and a “shit,” airy and tight, pushed between his teeth. “Do it again,” he says, mouth skittering off Jonny’s lips and over his cheek while Jonny strokes over his nipples some more, feeling Patrick’s shaking body over his, the excited grinding of his hips.

Jonny bends his knees—feet sliding over his rumpled sheets and toes catching in the folds—to open his legs wider, get Patrick lower between them. Get that good pressure too. Not low enough that he could fuck into Jonny if they were naked, but enough that it feels like he could stretch him on his cock with just a slight shift down the bed. It makes Jonny clench hard to think of it, to think of Patrick’s dick tapping inside where Jonny knows it’s good. Shame sparks in his gut, makes him squirm under Patrick, legs easy and open for it like they don’t care that it’s his brother between them. 

“Move,” he whispers into Patrick’s neck, and feels the vibrations of his groan on his lips when Patrick does as he’s told. His turn to get Jonny good, using his weight to keep the pressure on, grind down solid to make himself felt. 

Jonny gets a hand between them, elbow and wrist at a weird angle so he can touch Patrick’s mouth with his fingertips in an inept effort to shush him, tapping across his mouth until Patrick turns his head and sucks them in with a low moan. Jonny blinks, rubbing over his tongue, and thinks about pushing his dick there too. Sinks his fingers in and fucks Patrick’s mouth that way, hooking his cheek with a finger before taking it out and wiping the spit over Patrick’s lips.

He swallows thickly, says, “Don’t wake them up,” voice raspy and wet.

“Your parents.”

“Yeah, my—my parents.”

The shift is sudden, Patrick’s face tightening as he rocks forward hard, pushes with his whole body exactly like he wants inside Jonny. Like he’d fuck Jonny if he could, hands going to the backs of Jonny’s thighs to keep him where he wants, spreading them and tipping them toward his chest so he can grind down with a precision Jonny’s only ever seen him have for hockey. Heat bursts in his core, low, low between his legs, and he knows his dick’s wet now, leaking inside his briefs.

“He fucked you like this,” Patrick says, tight on a grunt, with a hard thrust that Jonny desperately wants to feel inside.

It’s hard to think, to pretend like this. With Patrick over him the way Jonny thinks about when he can’t help himself anymore—hating himself for the thickness of his dick in his hand and the finger he pushes in his hole pretending it’s his brother’s cock. 

Patrick goes faster. Harder. An edge of anger to it that catches Jonny inside the chest, has him grabbing Patrick’s ass with one hand to urge him on and raising the other over his head to brace himself against the wall. The friction’s almost too much, close to chafing. But too good too, sparking all over his skin and along his spine each time Patrick fucks forward. Their underwear have dragged down and there’s a punchy burst of heat in his eyes and throat and a spurt of wetness out of his cock when the head of Patrick’s dick catches over his. 

“Was it good?” Patrick says, “was it—like this? Like—” his fingers pulling on Jonny’s hair and teeth dragging over his cheekbone. 

Jonny closes his eyes tightly and says “no,” because Patrick has parents elsewhere and he’s only here for hockey. Jonny’s only known him for a few months. He’s new and beautiful and amazing with hands Jonny would kill for, and he looks nothing like Jonny. And he knows Patrick will think of that too. Will think about how he misses his family but that hockey is worth it and how nice it is to play with Jonny. Will think about how well they get along and how hot Jonny is, and how not weird it is when people say, “you guys are like brothers,” because Patrick doesn’t have a brother.

Thinking of this, Jonny doesn’t need to lie, then. Can say his truth without worrying when it slips out easily—so, so easy on his tongue for being held onto for so long: 

“He wasn’t you.”

and,

“Should have been you.”

Patrick bites when he comes. Digs his teeth into Jonny’s shoulder and lets out of loud groan, muffled there into Jonny’s skin. He pulls on Jonny’s hair and shoots over his chest, hips pushed so high that if he was really fucking Jonny, he’d be coming deep inside.

Jonny squeezes his ass like he’d do if Patrick really was fucking him, trying to keep his come from leaking out the way he’s thought about too many times before. Worse now with Patrick against him, going crazy at the feel of him all over, everywhere. Wanting him so bad all the time, and too close to stop himself from thinking any of the nasty shit his mind can come up with. He wants Patrick to push his jizz inside with his thick fingers. Wants him to eat his nut out of Jonny’s ass and then kiss him, make him taste it. 

“Pat,” he says, “Pat, Pat, please—” with a heavy hand on Patrick’s shoulder, shoving him. He’s right there, so close, dick hard and messy. Desperate in a way he’s never felt before and unable to not think about it. All of it. Wants to feel it for days. 

Patrick doesn’t move away, just shifts his weight over Jonny to get an arm between them and between Jonny’s legs, bypassing his dick. Jonny has a brief second to wonder what he’s doing before he feels it: Pat pressing his fingers over Jonny’s briefs and right onto his hole. And then in. Just enough that Jonny bucks off the bed in surprise, back arching and he’s—he’s so close, he’s right there—right—

“I’ll fuck you, Jonny,” Patrick says, screwing in harder, right into where Jonny’s the hottest. “I’ll blow you. I’ll—whatever you want. Everything you want. I’ll do it. I—”

Jonny comes. He comes hard, almost painful in the release. Knocked stupid by it and by Patrick’s broken, “Jesus fuck,” like it pains him too, to see Jonny flying apart while he’s still pushing a dry finger and his underwear up his ass. And Jonny almost wants to pull away from that until Patrick adds, “Fucking beautiful,” so low he’d have missed it if not for Patrick’s mouth right against his ear. “So gorgeous.”

For a long time, all Jonny can hear is the sound of their breathing and the hammering of his heart. Slowly, the silence of the house comes back over them and he’s relieved for it. No sound of footsteps in the hallway or coming up the staircase. The room is still dark when he opens his eyes, except for the bars of light coming through the blinds, stretching over his wall and his poster of Joe Sakic. 

Patrick’s skin is soft under his mouth and he doesn’t think of moving just yet, simply brushes his lips over it, tasting the saltiness, feeling Patrick’s slowing pulse under his tongue.

With a small groan, Patrick moves, raises himself up with one hand, says, “Please don’t tell your parents,” and presses a kiss to Jonny’s cheek. It’s soft and sweet and a kick to Jonny’s heart.

There’s a picture in one of the photo albums downstairs, in the lower cabinet of the dining room buffet. In it, Patrick and Jonny are five years old and they’re at the beach. Jonny’s tanned and dark. Patrick’s pale, wild blond curls over his forehead, spilling out from under his little red boat cap. Jonny’s arms are crossed and he’s pouting. Patrick’s kissing his cheek. Tell your brother you’re sorry, mom had said. Tell your brother you won’t do it again. Snapping the picture after Patrick mumbled ‘sorry’ to capture his apologetic kiss. Tell your brother you love him.

Tell your brother. 

Jonny closes his eyes, brings Patrick back against him, and holds him tighter.

 

 


End file.
